


There’s no such thing as time to kill nor time to throw away

by QuinsQuins



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: :/, Adult Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe, Angst, But Not Much, But kind of, Character Death, Deadlights(IT), Disabled Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fluff, Hurt Richie Tozier, Hurt/Comfort, Hypochondriac Eddie Kaspbrak, Losers Club Friendship(IT), Loss of Limbs, Magic, Murder, Other, Physical Therapy, Poor Richie Tozier, Richie is a big dumb homo, Stanley Uris Lives, Supernatural Elements, Violent Deaths, We love him, Wowziers, all the losers need a hug, i swear this isn’t what you think, mobility issues, not a fix it, probably, protective losers, s, strange concept, the turtle is an asshole, therapy dogs, there is some, time loops, unknown disablements, whooP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22913002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinsQuins/pseuds/QuinsQuins
Summary: Richie’s smile drops from his face.” This isn’t real...is it?”Ben turns to him with black beady eyes.“No, Richie. I’m afraid it’s not.”
Relationships: Patty Uris & Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris & Richie Tozier & Eddie Kaspbrak, The Losers Club & Richie Tozier, The Losers Club & The Losers Club
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	1. Come along now

**Author's Note:**

> “Go down, let's go down, let's go down  
> Don't you want to go down and wriggle on  
> Have a sing-along  
> Put some pickles on  
> And play the mellotron.”  
> \- ‘Wriggle’ by Cosmo Sheldrake 
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Well, it seems we meet again. Another story- another chapter left untouched for Richie Tozier fucking dies and...well, I’m not sad. This story is actually one I’m really liking so far...so, I hope you enjoy!

“Hey, fuck face! You wanna play truth or dare?”

“Well, here’s a truth! You’re a sloppy bitch!”

“Yeah that’s right! Lets dance!”

“Yippie Ki yay mother fuc-“ 

The clown abandons Mike, flicking him off into a cave wall, as Richie would of hoped. He feels slight relief but also terror as the clown turns its big, white heads towards him.

His braveness was a stupidly timed facade.

Pennywise captures Richie in the Deadlights- their haunting white color a blinding memory- that cast a misty glaze over his eyes.  
He can see people moving below him, out of the corner of his eye, but only here’s a loud buzzing in his ears.

It’s moments later he wishes he were blind.

Pennywise gets three good chomps on him- tearing off limbs like they’re twizzlers- that smacks blood all over his slackened face. Humming an awful tune of satisfaction.

He hears screaming- loud, piercing whistling. The clown hovers his mouth around Richie’s last limp, a drastically shaking left arm that unclenches and clenches brainlessly, then pulls back with a hot gasp of pain.

The feel of wind passing through his hair is more pleasant than the initial fall.

Landing on his back proves to be dreadful. He withers on the ground- strikes of pain shooting up his legs and shoulder as skin and muscle-less covered bones scrape over rock. Vibrating his spine.

His left hand is too shaky for him to sit up- and he relaxes into the curves and bumps of the hard floor. Resting his head on a small, broken rock.

The whistling has turned to pure silence, but flashes of blue with dark shadows swimming in them.

Thumping of shoes shake the ground beneath him. A body engulfs the blue light and shadows dancing hauntingly on the cave walls. 

Hands cup his shallow cheeks. Hot spit wetting his face and mixing with the blood.

Richie’s eyes dropping earn him a smack to the face.  
He deserves it.

“ Stay awake, Richie! Oh god- Stay awake! We’ll get you out of here! I promise! We-“

He’s gone.

~~~~

Richie’s face hurts.

A splash echos in the quarry. The itchy feel of grass underneath his pruny toes is a comfort. The sun’s light an orgasmic awaking across his skin. 

He doesn’t want to get wet..but a whistle from below scares him.

Legs still shaky with exhausted tremors, are read to fly.

Richie jumps a little bit too short off their childhood cliff and slams into a rock on the way down. Falling limply through the air, a common, second hand feel- his eyes catch sight of a dark figure looming over the cliff side. 

Someone below him screams.

He doesn’t remember meeting the water.

~~~

Mike settles a glass before Richie. Voice a mushy beep of a microwave. It’s just them two in the townhouse. Richie doesn’t know where the other losers are, but Mike doesn’t look worried so, he doesn’t worry.

Richie’s throat is dry. He looks down.

The drink appeared harmless. It’s color was a little bit chalky, and smelled like rosemary yes but, Mike swore to him that was just how the townhouse water looked. Pointing out how the drink was full of excess minerals and shit like that but it was totally safe to drink. That is wouldn’t give him ‘streptococcus’ or that disease where he’d shit himself to death. 

Just a regular glass of water. 

Richie hesitates to drink it- suspicion bubbling in his aching stomach. He wraps his sweating palms around the cool glass, confused when a slight heat from inside burns his skin, and pulls the glass close with a blank stare. Raising it up to his nose gets him a heavy whiff of the rosemary that he nearly starts to cough his lungs out. 

He needs some water.

Mike’s eyebrows bounce up and down at the ongoing coughs, and urges Richie to take a sip with a sight nod. It’s the smartest thing to do, drink water, to soothe his coughs but thing is, Richies not an idiot.  
He know it’s drugged. The water. No doubt about it.

It’s infused with whatever hoodoo Mike found in one of the stolen books. Some curse, spell, herb, spice dances around the drinks atmosphere almost magically. A barely noticeable tint of green outlining the glass like the moon being in front of the sun.

Richie doesn’t want to drink it. No matter how bad his coughs start to get- his throat starts to close up- and her pushes the drink back with quick haste and rushes away from the bar at top speed. The tool he was sitting on dangerously wobbling on unstable legs as he took two stars at a time to rush into his temporary room. 

He doesn’t look back once to notice that Mike’s expected shock is replaced with annoyance. Can’t imagine the wriggling, sweaty hands for stiff, dry clenching knuckles.  
The door closes harshly before Mike can even exit the bar, and Richie’s slamming his knees before the sink and drinking form the high pressured faucet like a dog does with the water hose.

Cold wetness crashes against sensitive teeth- prickling the skin on his back- and steam down the corners of his mouth, to the curves of his bobbing Adam’s apple, and soaking into the ugly yellow shirt. Bringing out an oder of pizza and stale airplanes seats with sweat. 

He drinks until water starts to shoot from  
his nose.

It’s, admittedly, disgusting. Water mixed with a slimy mucus drip down onto his lips. Making them moist and slippery with an unsatisfying taste.

Richie scrubs his lips clean of the clear snot and washes his mouth out with the townhouse water. Gathering a hand under the cold stream, he notices the water remains clear, and downs it without another thought. 

Turning off the water proves to be a small challenge as his stretched stomach aches at each move and glasses are stained with drops of water.

The comedian braces himself on the porcelain edges and hangs his head low between sharp shoulder blades. Appearing as if, from behind, he had no head.

Water droplet falls from his nose, and it sounds like metal striking metal when hitting the drain.

A knock comes to his door. Loud and imposing but, Richie further leans over the sink and rest his heated forehead against the chilled glass.  
Headache growing above his eyes while straining them to look up at his reflection.

Someone knocks again. Shaking the whole door. Muffled calling echo through the bathroom from beyond its splintering wood.  
It’s not understandable.

Richie groans low in his throat- the vibrations are a comfort of relief as he coughs one final time- and lazily pushes himself away from the sink. Clumsy stepping backwards as his vision becomes warped and dizzy.

It’s like he’s in college again. 

The knocks on the doors sound like clown horns now. Their sudden, shrieking honking a shock to Richie’s core and a nightmare to his steadily growing head ache.

His grip on the yellow knob grounds him for half a second, and then the turning feels like an out of body experience as his brain is acting too late to enact it.  
The door creaks, slams against his toes, and reveals a shadowy figure that seems to tower more and more over Richie with each sluggish blink.

Letting go of the door knob, swaying, he lifts a finger. Lips twitching with confrontation- ‘I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong room’- but dying on his tingling taste buds with a flash of numbness.

He doesn’t realize he’s falling backwards until a final blink proves his dizziness not to be the cause of his visions sudden upturn.  
The feeling of a wooden floor slamming back into his aging body flashes like the touch of a fire. Delayed.

Richie’s heart doesn’t panic as it should be doing, but beats with the calmness of someone falling asleep....or dying.

What if he was dying?

The black figure above Richie squats down next to his barely rising chest. Face a blank sheet of nothing. One hand erupts from the blended torso and touches his heart with a single finger.

And- Richie never found out if he died or not because-then there was darkness.

A whitening smile of growing canines spread on the blank face like hot butter. He brushes the sweaty hair out of the unconscious man’s face and rest his elbows on bent knees.

Eyes a crazy electric blue.

And, with a voice that could rival thunder, the figure speaks.

“ You shouldn’t of drank that water, Richie.”

The door behind closes.

~~~

“-‘ll be seventy years old, asshole!”

Richie’s jaw drops in a familiar reaction without his consciousness. His head shakes slightly at the annoyed look on Eddie’s face- he’s still here?- as the other losers around them roll their eyes.

He lets his throat clamp shut. Heart staring to beat at a normal, panicked pace.

Beverly and Ben are comforting each other with an awkward body language. Not knowing whether to hug, hold hands, or kiss. Bill stands by with his arms crossed, a totally normal looking Mike right beside him.  
And Eddie paces at the bottom of the stairs with a brave, but scared, front on his long face.

It’s abnormally cute, to Richie, on a forty year old. A little bit of child Eddie that peaks through at his worst times and send them back to when he last wore that expression.

The clown.

And that’s when Richie realizes-

He licks his lips.” This...this isn’t real, is it?” It’s a quite, tentative question. His shoulders brace for the losers to look at him as of hes crazy- threaten him with the end of a broken beer bottle thinking he’s the most eye trying to mess with them but,

They. All. Just. Freeze.

Not in the ‘we’ve been compromised’ kind of way though, it is a close second, they stop moving altogether. Their lungs cease pumping air into their throats and chest remain flat. Eyes stare unblinking at nothing and water from the breeze of cold air blowing over their touchy pupils.  
Everything is silent.

Ben’s eyes blink once- beady and black- and head stiffly turns to Richie with no humor. His lips are thin.

Richie’s insides do an array of flips at the sheer batshit crazy he’s hallucinating, but remains as calm as stagnant water up front.  
His fingers chip the wooden bar. Blood runs down his finger tips- a strong smell of copper following- that stain his finger prints a watery red.

Ben pushes a still Eddie aside and laboriously shifts side to side on his heavy feet and sits down at the bar- the same stool Richie had just been sitting on minutes ago- and rest his enclasped hands on the reflective wood.

Blinking.

Richie grinds his teeth at the awkwardness. Bloody hands itch to scratch a place behind his neck, but he’s no cliche.  
Instead, Richie crosses his legs and bounces up and down on the tips of his toes as if he’s doing the ‘pee-pee’ dance.

A good distraction.

Unfortunately, Ben Is not amused.

“ Richie Tozier,” Is it just him, or has Ben’s voice always been this godlike and commanding? “ A man of sound...drama...heart.” Ben- not Ben- grunts and sits up in his seat. Back unnaturally straight.

“...living in universe that still has you...how...cliche, no?” Not Ben slips a fake French accent on the end of his tone. The shadow of a smile on his face as he tilts a strong chin up at Richie.

The comedian swallows, lips contracting then retracting from his mouth, and doesn’t know what to say.

Not Ben’s brows narrow and mouth purses at Richie dumbfounded expression. He hums and rest his chin between thumb and pointer finger, thinking.

“ So, do you...know where you are, Tozier?” Not Ben raises a brow.Richie nods.” Can you speak now?” Richie thinks, and the shakes his head. Not Ben bites his chin.” That’s okay...that’s okay, next question. Do you think you’re at the townhouse?” Again, Richie nods, and Ben chuckles while shaking his low hanging head.

“Yes, Richie...at the townhouse you are but, is it yours?” Not Ben looks up through greasy hair with a semi crazy smile.” Did you arrive in this place, Richie? This exact place? Were you created here? Born? Raised?” He turns one ear close to Richie, cupping it from behind.” Where are you, Richie?”

All the questions send his thoughts into a double knot of confusion. He’s at the townhouse but, then...why does it feel wrong? He was born in Derry, Maine but...was it this Derry?

Richie’s stomach could as he fears the worst.” Am I....am I dead?”

Not Ben lets a smooth smile slip onto his face, and taps his head three times.” Right-o.” He jokes.” Dead as a door knob. eaten by a clown...wow, what a way to go...” Not Ben leans his face in his palm. Seeming to remanence an ordeal about Richie that the man couldn’t even remember himself.

He doesn’t want too, by the sounds of it.

A clock on the wall makes a tick- but no hands move.” Hh...he what?” His eyes are droopy with sadness, and voice filled with disbelief.” He wouldn’t- he didn’t..die he? I thought...I-“ Richie’s tongue gets in a twist. He takes a moment to recollect.

“I thought...we killed him, didn’t we?”

The man across from him picks at perfect lips with a nod- but quickly holds up a finger when Richie goes to talk.

“Yes, Tozier...you did technically kill him but, that was only in the thirty first universe...and there are multiple you’ve even had the chance to see.” Not Ben crosses his arms in front of him, face turning solemn.” The last universe was one where you died of poison.” He focuses on rubbing nothing between his fingers.” The clown was an illusion of your friend over there-“ A calloused Finger points to Mike.”- that nearly tricked you into drinking water that...wasn’t drugged.” A tired sigh deflated his lungs, he turns to look in scared, brown eyes.”..and, you,” Not Ben points directly at Richie’s heart.” Did the rest, yourself.”

Not Ben must think Richie doesn’t understand. He leans over clasped arms and into Richie’s face- unapologetically.

“The one before that, you hit your head jumping off the quarry. Then you drowned.” Not Ben tugs a hand free from underneath him and presses down on a random spot near the top of Richie’s skull.  
It throbbed with an unknown pain

Not Ben continued, anyway.” Before that, Ben,” He points to himself.” Stabs a knife through your face when trying to get your dead friends spider head off of you.” His face goes slack and eyes dead.” You should of seen the way he cried, Richie.” Said man recoils back at the ominous tone. Not Ben slowly shakes his head.

“ Oh, and the way Bill yelled at him,” The left side of his lip quirks up.” Heh, boy..” His eyes blow wide.” Was it a sight! Haha!” Not Ben jitters in his seat with maniacal laughter. Ben’s handsome features a grotesque picture of joy.

He wipes the spit of not Ben’s wild tongue off his cheek.” Wuh....what..No..” He trails off in a whisper of disbelief.” Ben wouldn’t...he...he didn’t?” 

Not Ben clicks his tongue and pokes his cheek with it.” Oh,” The man lets his jaw go slack, head slight tilted.” But he did..He killed you, Richie...and so did Bill...Bev...Mike,” Richie winces back and not Ben smiles while licking his teeth.” Stan...Eddie...yourself.” 

Richie’s eyes grow wide with shock, sweat gathers at his forehead.  
“No!” He shouts, and not Ben takes it as a challenge and slams his hands on the bar. Cracking it with a force no man should posses.

“Yes!” A vein pops out from his throat, and eyes turn a faint red.” Yes! Richie! You killed yourself! All your friends. Killed. Yooouuah!” Ben clacks in teeth together.

“ They all killed you. Somehow. Someway...many different times...many different reasons...” Not Ben settles back into his seat, Richie keeps shaking hands against his chest but, the smile never waivers.” In fact...I think I’ll tell you the worst one yet!” Not Ben lets his tooth-filled smile reach his ears.

Richie closes his eyes, covers his ears.  
But he can still hear him.

“ You’re in the Deadlights,” Not Ben starts.

“No.” Richie turns his head away. The other man laughs.

“ And, Eddie sees you floating there...he’s scared.” Not Ben recites the story like a fairy tale.” He doesn’t want you to die...he doesn’t want to live without you so,” not Ben makes a tipi on the bar with his hands.” Because he’s so ‘brave’.” The way Not Ben says it is like he’s going to vomit. Richie bites his lip.

“ He....throws the spear Bev gave him...” Not Ben pauses, for dramatic effect, and smiles with no teeth.

Richie doesn’t want to hear anymore. He stomps his foot- childishly.

“Stop.”

Not Ben juts out his bottom jaw with a Jim Carey ‘the grinch’ like smile. He’s enjoying this. 

“ Eddie’s throws the spear....Right. Into. Your. Heart.”

Richie kicks the bar hardly and stumps his toes.

“ That didn’t happen.” He states plainly.” It didn’t happen.”

Not Ben frowns at Richie’s denial.” It did, Richie.” The sickeningly soft way he speaks to Richie, as if he’s a child, turns his stomach.”He killed you.”

Richie shakes his head.” No, he didn’t. Eddie didn’t kill me!” He harshly jabs a finger on the wood and ignores the way it throbs.” He didn’t kill me, and I’m not dead! This is- this is just a sick game! A hallucination from that fucking clown!” He spits across the bar, seething.

Not Ben shows little interest.” Yes...yes you are, Richie.”

The calmness of his voice just drives a fire into Richie’s blood.” Then how did I die, originally? You tell me all these lies- all these stupid fucking lies about how my friends killed-“ He finger quotes ‘killed’. “ Me but not how I got here, now Im dea-“ 

Not Ben interrupts him with a pointed.” But I did.”

Richie’s accusing finger freezes mid point, and the sinking realization sets deep into his bones.” You...you did?” He lets his hand fall down to his sides, buck teeth visible between a gap in his lips.” Wuh...when- how?” 

He pleas not Ben with interest, demand. Eyes wide with an unbelieving innocence.” How did I...” The man raises a brow, and Richie feels like the air has been sucked out of him. He stiffly releases the bar and leans back on the rack of alcohol with no emotion.

‘ Eaten by a clown.’

“ A sure way to go- the price saving Mike.” Not Ben states flatly.” Would of been a pain to of stayed alive, though, like that.” He looks off to the sides, head leaning on his shoulder.” So...useless...”

Richie gapes like a fish. Not Ben sighs.

“ I know it’s a terrible realization, Man..I know..” He leans backwards and then forwards in his seat, scooting to the edge.” Ive been through it before and it never gets easier but..” not Ben stops his wiggling. And a black eye shimmers in Richie’s direction.

“That’s what I’m here to do.” Not Ben thumps a foot against the hollow part of the bar” To make it better.” 

The clock ticks, again. No hands move.

Richie blinks down at his scuffed shoes. Hands starting to numb from just limply hanging by his sides.

Not Ben rolls his eyes at the young man’s- only by his standards- dramatics. He knows what has to be said to gain his attention.

“ I can bring you back...”


	2. What a wonderful life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was a fun chapter to write- and I have so many more ideas for this story that I’m just BURSTING WITH ENERGY!
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> All writing mistakes are mine!

The statue chases him into on-coming traffic.  
He dies getting hit by a truck. His body flies up into the air like a rag doll and lands with a splat in the side walk with his head resting against the road and bloody body sprawled over the walk way.

A lady who saw the whole altercation simply steps over Richie’s body with a disgusted tsk.” Drunk.” And away on her high heels with a slight sways to the hips.

Bubbles of blood foam from Richie’s lips. Had anyone wanted to bring him to the hospital now would of been too late.   
He’s brain dead.

The truck that hit him rolls down a passenger side window to curse at Richie’s limp body with an angered fist. He hacked up a ball of mucus deep in his throat and spit it out the window.  
It landed right on the dead man’s cheek. Slimy and shimmering in the light.

Disgusting.

Windshield whimpers swish red blood back and fourth- simply spreading the blood around- until squirts of windshield washer fluid mixed with and, ultimately, paved away the blood.

The truck driver gave a resounding laugh and speed off in a puff of black smoke. Disappearing around the corner.

Life continues as normal.

Richie’s body lay in the hot sun for hours, blood baking and bubbling on the cement, and puss filled blisters appearing on his pale cheeks. His eyes are glassy.

A man covered in brown slime comes barreling out of a nearby store. Screaming about disease and wanting to go home, he carelessly slips on the blood beneath his smooth bottomed shoes.   
Landing on his ass with a distinct curse.

He sits up with a groan and goes to rub his aching head but, stops short. The wetness of his hand foreign. He brings it to eye level and blanches at the sight. 

Salty salty blood. Oh...how so gross.

The man throws up on the road beside Richie’s head. Tears already rising to his water line like he’d been stung. Clean hand clasped around his stomach.

It’s crazy though, to Richie, that...even after hours of being dead, he can still hear the man’s scream clear as day.

An echo in his afterlife. 

Richie takes a step down the stairwell of hell, and trips-

~~~

“ Bev? What’s wrong?”

Richie turns around at the question. His eyes, along with the others, land on the back of Bev’s head. Her flashlight fading into the dark tunnel they just came from. 

He waits with baited breath as she turns around to face them. Her face white as a ghost and hands shaking.

“ I thought I heard somethi-“

A grotesque woman with a long face breaks from the water. Her smiled twisted alongside her wonky face she pulls Beverly under the water. 

Friends begin to jump after her- their hands angled above their heads like professional divers. Feet quickly disappearing into the murky depths.

Richie doesn’t remember diving in.

He plunges down to dark figures thrashing about. Flash lights spinning like a stage production eliminate squinted eye faces as they struggle to pry their endangered friend from an impending doom. 

One swift kick, as swift as it could be underwater, is sent to the old hags face. Her long nailed claws let go of Beverly’s shoulders and suddenly her and Ben are flying to the surface. Mike and Bill in tow. 

Richie’s lungs burn for oxygen- he kicks upwards once- but a cold hand gripes around his hairy ankle. He frantically screams, sucking in water, as the light begins to fade and strength leaves him. 

The lady cackles as his body finally goes limp- she brings him to her cavern under the sewers to feast on later. Along with the clown....

Meanwhile, with the five surviving losers, they’re too distracted to notice he’s missing. And no one asks.

Eddie doesn’t go down into the sewer...and, when the house begins to come down, he pounds his fists on the dusty road outside and cries. 

He is the only loser left.

~~~

-Right into Eddie’s back.

There’s three doors. Scary, very Scary, and not scary at all.

Eddie grunts under Richie’s weight and pushes him towards the doors. Scared to be near them but, even more worried about the claw behind them that just seemed to inch closer and closer.

“Which door should we pick!?” Eddie raises a foot in the air and covers his face as the claw makes a swipe. He curves around Richie’s back.”We’re gonna die!”

“ No! We’re not!” Richie reaches for the middle door and opens it with more force than necessary, nearly throwing himself off balance.

He bends into the doorframe and looks down. 

It’s all black. No light, no shadows, no end. They picked the wrong door.

Richie straights himself and scratches a hand on his head, thinking. They could jump...with no promise of water or any comfortable substance to fall in is at the bottom....or-

Eddie lets out a shriek at the claw scrapes up a chunk of dirt at their heels and pushes Richie down into the abyss without thought.   
He doesn’t follow after....and Richie gets boiled alive by a mush of black goo.

The screams he hears are muffled as ear drums burn away and the whites of his eye balls burst In their sockets.

‘Oh what a lovely day for the beach,  
Where the sun is hot   
And water is nice  
Oh, what a lovely day for the beach.

~~~

Richie bit his nails, a habit he acquired throughout college and refused to quit, and side eyed Not Ben with no emotion.

He didn’t trust him.” How?”

Not Ben smiles at the question, and snaps his fingers. Sparkles of white appearing at the end of the ‘snap’.

The loser’s frozen bodies disappear behind him, and the facade of Ben’s face melts into a whole new being.   
One that Richie recognizes but, can not name.

He takes a step back.

“ It’s really simple, actually.” The man stands up from his seat with a huff. Pushing the long jacket sleeves up and over his elbows.” Like taking candy from a baby....a really, big beaded baby.”

Richie knew he was hinting at the clown and crossed his arms with questioning eyes.” How?” He asks again, taking in the man’s perfectly straight nose.” Are you like ‘him’?”

The man’s smile fades along with his excitement. He straightens out the brown jackets collar and clears his throat.  
“ No...I’m nothing like him.” His eyes are vacant or emotion.” Not even in the slightest.....in fact, I’m his complete opposite.” The smile returns on his lips, but hands remain clasped beside his thighs.

Richie’s skin prickles at the man’s obscure emotions. His insides turning with unknown fear.   
He still doesn’t trust him. 

The man is oblivious.” Now, as I’ve said, bringing you back is a common process- many do it everyday!” Richie’s eyes blow out of his head, and cheeks puff up with an intended gasp.” The only hard part of the...whole re-living process thing is finding the correct place.” The man turns to Richie, as if he’d understand, and cocks out a hip.  
“ Most have been known to take a day, a week and, at the very most, two months to find their place but, I have a feeling you are going to be stubborn.” He talks with his hands again, pointing and gesturing to Richie, smiling coyly.

He walks around in a circle, thumb rubbing against his chin. Stopping, he raises his hand head level and points to the ceiling.” But, your process is one of the most complexed ones I’ve had the pleasure to deal with!” The man says it like it’s an achievement. Richie just feels uncomfortable.

“I mean-“ He stands with his shoulder hunched to his ears, and hands in front of his chest touching fingers tips to make a triangle.” This clown shit- by far- is the most fucked up thing any of my ‘clients’ of had to deal with!” He throws his hands up into the air, exasperated.” And I’ve dealt with literal Greek legends and gods angles!” Calming brown eyes light up in childlike innocence, big white teeth dwarfing his thin lips.

Richie stares at him, awkwardly.” Oh-Kay...um,” He scratches the back of his neck thinking of a way to change to subject.” How is this related to...anything I’ve asked?” It’s not meant to be a rude question, as is comes out forced through a deep rumble but, the man drops his tightly wound shoulders and coughs into his fist. Taking on a more professional air.

“Yes, yes. Sorry about that, I’m afraid I get too caught up with things sometimes, apologies.” He nods to himself and clasps wrinkled hands behind his back.

His brown eyes lose their shine and turn a dark brown. 

“ My name is Fritz, or Mr.Bion, and I am your assigned guardian.” Fritz brings one hand out from behind his back, and holds it by his cheek. Scarred palm facing Richie who looks down at his own palm that has the exact same scare.   
He looks back up- eye brows furrowed in confusion.

The end of Fritz lips quirk up into a smirk. He hides the hand back behind his back.

“I’ve been called to assist you in fixing a mistake made by the laziness of another.” Fritz rolls his eyes at the memory of his friend-the turtle-that first created the clown. He said it was not to be made for human interaction but, who was he to take orders from? The turtle didn’t care.  
His face darkens.” Your physical body has been proved to be useless scrap and cannot secure you on your journey-“Fritz gives a sympathetic look as Richie rubs the arm he didn’t remember getting bit off.” And, because of that, I cannot guarantee that the life you will find peace in will be a happy one. You may be able to live peacefully with loved ones-“ Richie wonders if Stan would be alive “- but suffer unknown diseases, disablement’s, loss of humanity and, possibly, limited time.” 

Fritz sighs, almost tiredly, and teeters on the balls of his feet. Kicking about an imaginary soccer ball.   
He looks up at Richie through strands of stray blond hair.

“ My sole job it to take you to those places, and let you wander until satisfaction is found or-“ Fritz awkwardly looks side to side.” You die.” He grimaces and Richie bites at his nails.

“ As I have said before, the longest anyone has ever spent time trying to find their place has been only two months..” Richie waits for Fritz to continue as his eyes turn sly with hidden sadness.” But, having dealt with a being that can alter time, space and-“ He coughs in his hand.” Anything and anyone related to them, it can get rather strung out.” He punches his fingers, hand touching, and pulls them apart like he’s holding a string.

Richie spits out a nail and shoves his hands deep into his pockets- ignoring the uncomfortable feel of his jagged nail getting hooked on loose strings.

“ So...what does..” He retracts his words with a shake of the head and sighs.” How will I know when I’ve found ‘my place’” Fingers imply air quotes around the saying as he still does not fully believe this man.” Does it....like, Just stop? My journey?” 

Fritz tilts his head- pondering the question.” Yes..” He sticks out his bottom lip, eyes looking to the ceiling.” Something like that.”

Richie rubs at his wrist- throbbing with unseen rope burns- and cracks his pursed lips. More questions popping in the tip of his tongue.

He will never get to ask them.

A tick- the clock- echos and someone upstairs moves.

Fritz head snaps to the stairs. His shoulders tense and eyes blown wide in fear. Richie exits the bar to stand by him and looks up the stairs, as well.   
He swallows, heart beating in his throat, and smacks his mouth. 

“What...what was that?” Fritz snaps his head towards Richie, making the man flinch back, and slaps a hand over Richie’s mouth and cheek.   
Finger pressed tightly over his own lips in a silencing act.

He looks back up the stairs, Richie gets a face full of lemon smelling hair, and then turns back with his lip in his mouth.

“ Do you accept my offer?” He asks, bluntly, eyes darting to the side as Richie stares at him- his mouth shaped into a sloppy ‘O’.

“Offer? What...wh-“ Fritz stops Richie from speaking as he clamps his lips between two bony fingers. He looks up the stairs again- noises getting louder, as if someone was knocking on the floor- and clenches his jaw.  
He puts his free hand on Richies shoulder- squeezing it tightly.

Thin strands of hair fall into his wrinkled- but not old- face. Making his doe brown eyes pop.” Do you want to live or not?” He asks quickly, pulling them away from the stairs as a rather big thud shakes the building.   
He puts himself behind Richie- nearly cemented to the curve of his back- with a hand still clapped over the man’s mouth.” Do you accept my offer or do you wish to remain how you are?”

Fritz swallows- a rather awkward feeling as the movement bobs the back of Richie’s neck.” Stuck in this circle of death? Living to forget?” His voice turns a breathy whisper and tone pleading.  
Wrinkled hand eases up its place over Richie’s mouth. He kicks his lips.“ You know, had I not stopped you today, in this bar, they would of killed you...mercilessly..” The hot breath whispered into Richie’s ear sends a churning in his stomach. 

“They would of thought you were the clown....they hold you down and stab you with broken bottles and cut your wrists- something they thought would be ironic..” 

A comforting rub warms his numbing shoulder.” Please..” Doors open upstairs.” Please....say yes..” His face is locked into a mess of anguish.” Please, Richie, please!” He Staates to sweat, looking up at the stairs and back with panicking eyes. Richie is twisted around to face him, holding his shoulders arm length away.

“ Do you accept?” 

There was no offer to be given- implied, yes but, what had he given Richie to persuade him?

‘Life.’ He thinks, biting his tongue.

Footsteps grow closer to the tip top of hollow stairs. Multiple sets of feet kicking at others ankles and tripping over untied shoe laces. 

Fritz pulls Richie forwards until his own back collides with the townhouse door. Thin pink lips are wobbling and sweat drips from his freckled forehead. Sweet brown eyes regain a hopeful- yet pleasing- shine. Their worry an imminent door that swirls down Richie’s throat like a burning gulp of mouthwash.

He doesn’t know why the feeling is a phantom ache but, who’s to say it didn’t happen to him? 

Shoes clack against wood like gap dancers on stilts. They fall and slip of the edge of rounded stairs and sometimes hit their pinkie toes against the wall. 

Fritz gripes Richie’s shoulders with every muscle in his body. Legs strain up on the tips of his toes and the bottoms of his pierced ears skim the tops of lopsided shoulders.

He cups the scared palm to Tozier’s stubble covered cheek, admiring him with a saddened worn smile and veins that pop from his forehead and neck. His skin turns red.

“ Richie-“ It sounds like someone fell down the stairs.” What is your answer?” Followed by a stamped of quick feet, hushed whispers.” Will you-“ A grumble, kicking a slap.

Richie’s neck aches to turn around- but the allure of Fritz’s eyes keep him locked. Someone behind them gasps, and Fritz cups the back of his neck.  
“- accept?”

Their on the level floor, now. Matching their way with arms swinging by their sides and red eyes filled of sleepless worry. 

He doesn’t know what will happen if he says no- and the outcome of saying yes is still slightly foreign to him- but, the choice is an easy one to make, a quick split decision of if he would like chocolate or vanilla ice cream.

Richie says yes.

The warmth of bodies inches away from his skin- tension that pools off them like water proof clothing- snap back in burst of pain.

Fritz gives a calming smile, hands sliding down to his sides. He gives a single clap and the gripes the collar of Richie’s shirt.  
Bringing it close Fritz smashes their lips together, teeth clanking painfully loud like I’ve and a glass bottle, and licks Richie’s lips. 

It shocks Richie to his core, and the people that stare holes into his back gasp with the indignity of a homophobe in the 80’s. 

Fritz licks his own lips with a sensual smile, canines showing behind a meaty tongue and, before Richie can’t think of something to say, Fritz just....opens the townhouse door and thrusts him away.   
Fingers wiggling in a silky goodbye as Richie flips in the air to face him.

“ Pleasure doing business with ya!” Echos in his ears, a girly vibrating against his brain as scream upon screams travel through the wind blowing through his hair and, sometimes, get stuck behind his wide back and attach themselves to his heart.

It’s not familiar falling- where he’ll end up smacking his against rock- but, it’s no less terrifying.

His body turns to stone as the cold breeze freezes his joints. Eyes remains open but lips clasp together like they’ve been lined with glue and force him to breath heavily form his nose.   
Wrists prickle with points of needles and dampen a harsh tugs on his fingers.

A whistle grows loud in his chest. Piercing and shaking a core that shuts downs with each new spike of air that seeps into his body.

He can’t scream- can hardly feel- and his eyes grow blurry with tears. 

What did he do? Was this how it was supposed to be? Where was he going- if anywhere? Why did he agree? Oh why! Why! Why! 

A clock ticks in his mind. He sees its red hand move closer to the three. 

The feel of something warm tingles against his back as he falls closer and closer. He can’t turn around to see it, arms frozen in place, and that just makes his anxiety spike with nothing but-

Richie lands...He can’t move his arms, nor legs, but eyes blast open and wearily squint as rays of sun pool in from a nearby window. His own window...from his own house in LA.

The smell of hot chocolate and pine warm his cold skin. He’s on his bed. Covered up with Batman sheets he’d gotten as a gag gift from a fellow comedian but, never told anyone he actually used.

It’s....nice.

He scans the room from his immobile state on the bed. Taking in characteristics of his room that are misplaced and either totally new.   
The wheel chair- for one thing- that sits by his window is new....as well the sight of a sleek, silver gripe bar nailed to the bathroom wall that’s adjacent from his bed.

Old posters of his shows still hang in the wall- as well ones that aren’t his and he has never seen- that have filled his blue painted walls with thumbtack holes upon holes.

He likes it that way. Nostalgia from childhood when he’d used to get into trouble for switching posters to different walls and filling each corner with paper that either had printed cartoons on them or dates from bands that would stop by their desolate town.

Happy memories.

Richie takes in a breath of air- savoring the taste of something fresh, and relaxes more into his, surprisingly clean, bed. Eye lids fighting to stay open.

He falls asleep wondering what awaits him and misses the soft knock on his bedroom door.

Head turning the opposite direction for comfort as a familiar loser enters the room with dark purple eye bags and a sad smile.

Shaky hands clutch a big pillow to his chest, and he looks up at the popcorn ceiling with tears glimmering in his eyes.

“ God...forgive me..” He whispers, withholding a choked sob that spills cold tears down his cheeks.” I never wanted it to turn out this way...” His wet chin tilts down so that glossy brown eyes watch the sleeping man in reminiscence.

A small smile growing on his face as memories of them walking down cracked cement streets in the hot summer, hands sticky with melted ice cream, warm up the gloomy cloud floating over his head.

He stands by the top of Richie’s bed. Shadow looming over him like a vulture that’s ready for its prey and sinks his nails deeper into the pillow, smile turning into a vertical grimace.

A bird outside twitters by, flash of blue and yellow blurring by the windows clear glass. 

Richie lets out a tired sigh, eyes fluttering open for a second as he stiffly tries to stretch his back. They close as the figure above him freezes, pillow just inches above him clutched in arms bent at the elbows.

But, after a sigh of relief that jitters his eye lids, his eyes snap wide open. Pupils widening in disbelief as Eddie stands over him with wet cheeks and a souring expression. 

They lock eyes, and Richie’s heart begins to heart erratically. 

‘ he’s here, he’s here, he’s here!’ 

A phantom lazy smile tingles on his lips. 

To Eddie, it was a simple quiver. He sniffs and chokes on a sob staring his neck to look up at he the ceiling, again, then back down.

He shakes his head, bitting thin lips.

“ I’m sorry, Richie...I’m sorry but...I can’t do it..” A warm tear drops onto Richie’s cheek.” I can’t do it anymore... I’m sorry...please, please forgive me..I’m only doing what’s best for you..” 

Eddie calms his shaking chest as Richie stares up at him in confusion.

‘What....What, Eddie? What’s going on?’ His lips don’t move, and voice box remains flat. He screams at his brain to move his arms, wiggle his fingers, and move his lips. Wanting everything in the world to stop Eddie from whatever he was planning to do...

But nothing happens. Not even a bird sings.

Eddie smoothers Richie to death with that pillow. 

And then he’s falling through a vortex of cold wind again. This time his arms move freely but legs flop uselessly in the breeze.

He screams for the first time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooo, I’m sorry for the ending :( this story will not be very happy or fluffy so- all you angst lovers better strap in! We’ve only just begun!
> 
> Thank you for reading, leave a comment if you want too and have a good one :))!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully the next chapter will be longer, yes.
> 
> Thank you for reading, please don’t be mad at me, leave a comment if you want too and have a good one! :)


End file.
